A Gathering of Crows

“Cowards.”

“Still your tongue, bearded one. We’ll feed until there is nothing left.”

“Levi,” Donny shouted, “look out!”

The shortest of the five slashed at Levi with its talons.

He sidestepped the attack and pulled one of his hands free from his pockets. In his fist was a handful of salt. Levi tossed it into the creature’s snarling face and yelled, “Ia, edin na zul. Ia Ishtari, ios daneri, ut nemo descendre fhatagn Shtar! God, guide my hand.”

The effect was immediate and remarkable. Hissing, the shadow-man recoiled as if Levi had splashed battery acid in its face. Levi grinned as his opponent flung its clawed hands into the air and screeched—a long, warbling, tea-kettle sound that rose in intensity and seemed to have no end. The dark figure stumbled backward, colliding with its brothers, and violently shook its head from side to side.

Levi held up another fistful of salt. “Come on, then. I have plenty to go around.”

The creatures held their ground, staring at him with unbridled hate.

Levi backed up slowly, not taking his gaze from them. He stopped when he reached Donny. Without turning around, he whispered, “Move with me toward the house. Don’t panic. As long as you have the book, they can’t touch you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, dude. It’s you.”

“I’m fine. Now come on.”

He and Donny moved as one, shuffling toward the house. The three men in the doorway—Levi couldn’t remember if Donny had given him their names or not—had watched the confrontation and stalemate in horror, as if not quite believing what they were seeing. Levi and Donny moved slowly, circling around their foes. The dark figures turned with them, watching. Then, just as Levi and Donny had almost passed them, all five charged at once, flinging themselves at the men.

“Go!” Levi shoved Donny forward. The younger man stumbled but did not fall. For one terrifying second, Levi thought he might try to stay and fight, but he obeyed, running toward the house—a soldier to the end, following orders.

Heat flared in Levi’s back as one of the attackers slashed at him. The claws ripped through his clothing and into his flesh. Levi responded by tossing salt over his shoulder, and felt a vicious, satisfying thrill as the creature screamed in obvious torment. A blow landed on his left shoulder and Levi’s entire arm went numb. Moving quickly, he grabbed another fistful of salt with his good arm and spun in a circle, flinging it in a wide arc. Again, the attackers fell back.

“You don’t have an unlimited supply,” one of them croaked. “Already the bulge in your pockets lessens.”

“I have enough,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the pain in his back and shoulder. His left arm still had no feeling. It hung limp and useless. “Try me, if you like.”

“Bah.” The tallest of the five spat on the ground and the grass withered where the saliva landed. It took a tentative step toward him and Levi feinted with the salt. The creature stopped.

“You are a worthless adversary,” it taunted. “Gone are the days when any of your kind provided us with a worthy challenge.”

“Oh, I’m sure there have been many of my kind who defeated you easily enough. We’re a resourceful bunch, us humans.”

“Only the red men. Their shamans were worthy. Even still, they retreated when we carved our master’s name in a tree to glorify him. That is because they feared us—and him.”

The red men! It took all of Levi’s will to keep from smiling with glee. The entity obviously meant the Native Americans. Another vital clue and a further piece of the almost-completed puzzle.

“You are from Roanoke.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your master’s true name is Meeble.”

The creature sounded surprised. “Well done, little magus. You know Croatoan’s real name, and therefore, I must surmise that you know what he is capable of, as are we, his faithful servants. And yet still you stand against us. Perhaps you are not so worthless an adversary after all.”

It all made sense now. Levi was overwhelmed by a sudden sense of frustration. How could he have not seen it before? Five shadowy figures—the five Roanoke colonists who had worshipped Meeble, now turned into some sort of psychic vampires, eating the souls of the living and carrying on their master’s work. His theory had been correct. They were revenants of a kind, and although he still didn’t know their names (he would have, if he’d had access to his library back home) he knew how to stop them. It was important, however, that they not know that he knew. Not until he was ready.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “I can’t stand against you after all.”

He turned and fled. Laughing, the five figures raced after him, sliding to a halt as Levi abruptly wheeled around and faced them again.

“And now, for my next trick . . .”

“What—?”

He pointed his index finger and focused his will.

“Hbbi Massa danti Lantien. I, Levi Stoltzfus, son of Amos Stoltzfus, breathe upon thee.”

“No! He seeks to trick us, brothers, as he did me, earlier tonight.”

Levi scattered the rest of his salt at his feet in a wide arc, holding them back just long enough to finish. “Three drops of blood I take from you. The first from your heart. The second from your liver. The third from your vital powers. In this, I deprive you of your strength and vitality. Now crawl on the ground like the worm you are. You’ll raise no hand against me.”

All five of the creatures collapsed on their bellies, faces pressed against the wet grass and dirt. They roared in anger, struggling as their movements slowed.

“That never gets old.” Levi winked at them. Then he turned and ran for the house. “Thank you, Lord. That was close. A little too close for comfort.”

“You know this is pointless,” one of the creatures howled. “It didn’t work before. It won’t work now. You will only delay us.”

“A delay is all I need.”

Levi leaped over the dead man lying in the yard.

His face was missing, and grass clippings stuck to the glistening musculature covering his skull.

One of the men standing at the front door called to Levi as he approached. His ruddy cheeks shone with wetness and his eyes were bloodshot.

“That’s my brother.” He pointed at the body.

“Help him.”

Levi slowed as he approached them. He recognized the distraught man as Gus Pheasant, one of the brothers who operated the town’s automobile-repair shop. They’d directed Levi to Esther’s boarding house when he first arrived in Brinkley Springs—a moment that now seemed as if it had happened in the distant past.

“I’m sorry,” Levi said. “But your brother is beyond my care. He’s dead.”

“Bullshit. Donny told us you’re some kind of voodoo doctor. Make him better. Do some witchcraft or whatever it is you do.”

“I can’t. It’s beyond my ability. I really am sorry.”

Gus began to weep again. He leaned against the grizzled mountain man.

“This is Axel,” Donny said, introducing an elderly man standing in the doorway. “And that’s Paul. And you already know Gus.”

Levi nodded, rubbing his still-numb arm. “Gentlemen. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.”

“Donny says you can help us,” Paul said. His voice was gruff and serious—and tired. “I’d ask you if it was true, but I saw how you just handled yourself against those . . . whatever the hell they are. I reckon you can hold your own.”

“I can help,” Levi said. “But you need to do exactly what I tell you, and we need to move quickly. That won’t hold them for long.”

Donny handed Levi his book. “What’s the plan?”